Page 25 of They All Own Me

Connor nods and flips a switch. Static fills the room for a moment before Thomas's voice cuts through.

"No, Tatum, not tonight, not interested."

Her voice is soft but determined. "I thought?—"

He interrupts her. "You thought wrong. And here's a thought, while we're at it, you should utilize that home gym more. Your ass is getting a little wide."

Dominic clenches his jaw beside me. “That Mother Fucker...”

He slams his fist on the desk, causing the monitor to shake. “That prick doesn’t deserve her.”

I nod, my jaw clenched tight. “You’re tellin’ me. She’s a fucking smoke show and he’s blind as a fucking bat.”

Connor shakes his head, a mix of disbelief and anger etched on his face. “The man’s got no taste, that’s for sure. I mean, look at her. She’s practically begging for a chance to be noticed.”

Dominic crosses his arms, leaning back against the wall. “And he tells her to hit the gym? Does he need fucking Lasik?”

“Do you want me to intervene?” Connor asks, glancing between us.

“No. We already are,” I remind him. “We need to play this smart. Tatum’s our in with Thomas.”

Dominic looks back at the screen, where Tatum is now gathering her things, clearly dejected but determined. “We need to keep her motivated,” he says. “She’s risking a lot here.”

“Motivated?” I snort. “With that asshole for a husband? She’s got motivation in spades.”

Connor chuckles darkly. “Yeah, but let’s make sure she knows we’ve got her back.”

I nod in agreement, already reaching for my phone. “I’ll give her a call,” I say.

Dominic steps forward, his hand on my shoulder stopping me short. “No,” he says firmly. “I’ll handle it.”

I raise an eyebrow but hand him the phone without argument.

Thomas may be blind to what he's got but we sure as hell aren’t.

And we're not about to let him get away with it any longer.

Chapter 15

Tatum

I storm into the bedroom,slamming the door behind me. The lace of my lingerie scratches against my skin as I collapse onto the king-sized bed.

"Wide ass?" I mutter into my pillow. "Really?"

The silk sheets cool my heated skin as I roll onto my back, staring at the pristine white ceiling. My hands slide down my sides, over the curves Thomas apparently finds so offensive.

"There's nothing wrong with my body." But the words sound hollow, even to my own ears.

I drag myself up and pad to the full-length mirror, examining my reflection. The red lace hugs every curve, accentuating my hourglass figure. I turn sideways, checking my profile. Sure, I'm not stick-thin like his secretary or that woman who left our house the other day, but I'm far from overweight.

"Maybe I should call my trainer," I whisper, pinching the skin at my waist. "Or switch to salads only."

A phone buzzes. Probably Thomas texting to remind me about some political function or to criticize my outfit choice for tomorrow. I ignore it.

Instead, I think about how he barely looked at me when I walked in. How his eyes stayed glued to his computer screeneven as I practically threw myself at him. The rejection stings more than it should, considering I don't even want him.

"Get it together, Tatum," I tell my reflection. "You're not doing this for him anyway."

---